


silver and gold

by dicaeopolis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon and Post-Canon, M/M, Relationship Study, but between you and me the doc is called HEIGHT DIFFERENCE: THE FIC, title is from the camp song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 02:03:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9101464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicaeopolis/pseuds/dicaeopolis
Summary: If you asked Yaku when it started, well-





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NatRoze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatRoze/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY NAT!! REMEMBER THAT ONE TIME THREE MONTHS AGO WE WERE SCREENSHARING ON HANGOUTS AND U WERE LIKE “OPEN THE DOC IN UR WRITING FOLDER TITLED ‘I CAME TO KICK ASS AND POUND THE FUCKING BODY’” AND I WAS LIKE “ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT” AND U ALL LOST IT BC U THOUGHT IT WAS PORN. GUESS WHAT
> 
> THANKS TO [BETSY](http://www.twitter.com/owlinaminor) FOR BETAING AS ALWAYS and you can find me (and promo posts for the fic) on [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/dickaeopolis/status/814327292453421056) and [tumblr](http://vivasimplemindedness.tumblr.com/post/155102118633/silver-and-gold)

 

Here’s how it starts: they’re graduating, and the day passes in blurry songs and speeches and a few pieces of paper rolled up into cylinders. Their kouhais are clumped together on the flimsy fold-up chairs in the audience, Lev grinning and waving a ridiculously long arm at Yaku, Yamamoto putting his hands to his mouth to roar for Kai’s approach to the podium, Kenma letting a rare smile escape for Kuroo’s.

None of them give their second button to anyone. Kai has spent the last two years in slow, quiet love with the daughter of a family friend who lives in Hokkaido, and Kuroo has never dated anyone as long as Yaku has known him - he’s always waved off confessions with the airy declaration that he’s married to volleyball. For his own part, well - Yaku won’t give his second button to anyone who’s no more permanent than high school.

Their whole class sings together, and then they rush off the stage and there’s a million pictures and their weepy families and saying goodbye to all the classmates they’ve spent the last three years with. But when it comes down to it, it’s Kuroo and Yaku and Kai, later that night, roaming the gravel sidewalks and dark-windowed buildings of the empty Nekoma grounds together long after their classmates have dispersed for the last time. They’ve ditched their formalwear to change into jeans and t-shirts and jackets, melting into the darkness that’s settled over their campus.

Kuroo’s been wearing the same hoodie as long as Yaku has known him - it’s soft and charcoal-colored, thin and pilled with wear. The sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, the drawstrings frayed where he absentmindedly nibbles on them in class. When it’s chilly, he hunches his shoulders up and snuggles his head down into the collar like a puffed-up pigeon. Tonight, his hoodie blends together with the night and his hair and his dark jeans, and his tanned skin is washed pale under the streetlamps.

“This is great,” Kai says, and hitches the suspicious bulk of his backpack up on his shoulder. “Just the three of us, and our old school, and thirty-two rolls of toilet paper.”

“I still think we could’ve gotten one-ply,” Yaku puts in as they stride up the familiar sidewalk towards the old gym. The shadows of trees and buildings and their bobbing forms fall in dramatic contrast against the sparse grass. “We’re going to be impoverished college students pretty soon, you know.”

On his other side, Kuroo nudges him with his elbow. “Nah, bro, this is for the old man, remember? We gotta splurge.”

“And it’s going to be our kouhais who have to clean it up,” Kai reminds him. “They’re going to make Lev take down everything that’s high up. We have to make it difficult for him.”

“That does make me feel better,” Yaku concedes.

They reach the door, and Kai steps forward with credit card in hand. They’ve all jimmied the lock plenty of times before, but Kai is still the one who can get it within seconds.

As they wait, Kuroo's phone buzzes in his back pocket. He slides it out, and then grins down at Snapchat. Yaku glances over at him. “Bokuto?”

Kuroo nods. “Yeah, Fukurodani graduated today too. They’re spiderwebbing their old gym.”

“We have to outdo them, then,” Yaku resolves. “It’s our duty.”

“Not a chance, bro, they’ve got Shirofuku in on it. We can still fuck with Bokuto, though.”

“He always makes it so easy,” Yaku agrees, then grumbles halfheartedly as Kuroo snakes an arm around his waist and lifts him up so he fits into the frame of Kuroo’s selfie. “You could’ve just bent down.”

“You could’ve just grown more,” Kuroo tells him. “Smile for the owls.”

Yaku makes a grotesque face and shoots a middle finger at the lens, and, once Kuroo has snapped the picture, informs him, “I  _ hate _ it when you do that.”

Kuroo sets him back down on the asphalt, eyes sparkling. “You don’t really. I’m too lovable.”

“You’re  _ tolerable,” _ Yaku deadpans. “Barely.”

“C’mon, Mori.” Kuroo’s fingers tap out some trash talk for the caption, and once he’s sent the snap, he treats Yaku to a grin that could only be described as shit-eating. “We’re making memories tonight, remember?”

“I’ll remember you being a  _ menace.” _

"Got it,” Kai says over his shoulder. The door clicks and then swings open, and Kuroo and Yaku head after him into the dark, empty gym. “You two really never stop, do you?”

But his voice is warm with familiar affection, and Kuroo’s curls with a smile in kind as he answers, “That’s  _ exactly _ what I was just telling Yaku.”

This is old habit, really. 

Graduation is exciting, but a little bittersweet. The three of them will see each other again, sure, but Yaku isn’t sentimental enough to believe in frozen time - gradually, their connections will stretch and fade, their conversations will become reminiscence over old memories rather than creation of new ones.

But he isn’t hung up on it, either. They’ll have tonight’s memories to reminisce over, when they’ve all turned into the creaky old geezers that Kuroo already is on the inside. And they’ll have the past three years, of practicing and playing and basically parenting the underclassmen together-

Wait, now that Yaku thinks about it, this isn’t how it starts.

_ Here’s _ how it starts: they’re brand-new third-years and, according to Kuroo, every family needs a strict parent and a chill parent. He brings this up when the three of them are kicking around the empty gym the week before school starts, all three too impatient to wait for the first formal practice next week. It feels like beginnings - a new year, new tournaments, new first-years to make their team stronger - but also like endings. They have two more chances at nationals, and then college entrance exams weigh heavy over their heads, and after that - graduation. And then they’ll be gone.

Yaku frowns at him. “They  _ have _ to?”

“Yeah, dude, haven’t you noticed? Remember when we were first-years in English class and Hori-senpai spent hours teaching me how to translate that one Shakespeare sonnet but then Mikoshiba-senpai just helped you put it through Google translate?”

“Which kind of parent is your mom?” Kai asks.

“She’s both,” Kuroo assures him. “Definitely.”

“What about Fukuroda- actually, I know,” Yaku cuts himself off.

Kai chuckles. “Remember when Bokuto let his team convince him that they should mass streak across the Fukurodani campus the day before Interhigh?”

Yaku nods in grudging admiration. “Yeah, that took balls.”

Kuroo pipes up with the obligatory innuendo.

Yaku stands on his tiptoes and reaches up to swat him upside the head. “You’re awful.”

Kuroo dodges out of the way, eyes dancing with mischief as he shoots Yaku a sidelong (and slightly downward) glance. “You’re setting me up for these at this point and we both know it.”

Well-

He’s not wrong.

The year stretches on. According to Kuroo, every family needs a strict parent and a chill parent - Karasuno’s captain is the one who lectures them about being noisy in restaurants; the vice captain is the one who sneaks them a thumbs up when they invite themselves to training camps.

Apparently, Yaku is Nekoma’s strict parent - the one who shuts down Yamamoto when he’s roaring Kenma’s ears out, the one who whips their 194-cm toddler of a first-year into shape (although not without considering buying an industrial-strength child-leash). And Kuroo is their chill parent - the one who lets Yamamoto take out all his roiling pent-up energy on the court, the one who lets Lev ditch receives practice to play three-on-three with some new friends, the one who gives speeches of passionate support to an indifferent Kenma. Because, apparently, somewhere in there the Nekoma High School Volleyball Club became Yaku’s family.

Well - no, now that Yaku thinks about it, they’ve been family for a while. So that wasn’t how it started either.

_ Here’s _ how it starts: they’re second-years and they’re both growing. Yaku is growing more slowly that Kuroo, which irritates him endlessly - but, hell, there’s a reason he became a libero. His skill at receives - notable even on a team renowned for them - is a matter of survival.

Here is something Yaku knows about Kuroo Tetsurou: he was raised by a single mom. Yaku knows this because when they’re second-years and they’re both growing, he meets her for the first time - she’s in the stands at the Tokyo qualifiers, and shouts  _ ganbatte _ down to them when they’re bowing to Itachiyama at the beginning of the match.

Afterwards, she comes down to greet them on their way out. Even the first time he  meets Kuroo’s mother, Yaku recognizes her son in her. She’s got Kuroo’s messy black hair. She’s got Kuroo’s strong hands. She’s brought them the same unfairly delicious brownies that Kuroo always brings to team sleepovers.

And she’s got the steely determination that Yaku sees in Kuroo’s eyes afterwards, when they listen to their captain tell them meaningless things like  _ we played our best _ and  _ there’s always next year. _

On the bus ride home, Kuroo sits next to Yaku. He makes easy conversation across the aisle and good-naturedly teases Yamamoto, who’s taken the loss very personally despite the fact that he himself only played about half a set. But Yaku recognizes the tension in Kuroo’s clenched fists where they’re resting on his thighs, Yaku recognizes the  when Kuroo mutters to him  _ don’t worry, I’m not torn up about it _ , and Yaku knows why-

No, actually, that isn’t how it starts, either.

Okay. Yaku knows, for sure.

It starts when they’re first-years. Maybe even on the very first day of practice.

Here are the things Yaku learns about Kuroo Tetsurou in their first week on the Nekoma volleyball team: he likes fish (Yaku likes meat), he likes girls with long hair (Yaku prefers short), he likes sweet curry (Yaku does too, but announced that he liked spicy just to spite him), he thinks Mikasa volleyballs are superior (Yaku likes Molten), and he enjoys going to the beach on summer break (Yaku would rather take a trip to the mountains).

But then, he learns more things. That they’re both good at receives. That they’re both strong as nails (and, in Kuroo’s case, twice as pointy). That they’ve both come here with the goal of taking Nekoma to the national level.

And so, a month into his time on the Nekoma volleyball team, Yaku makes a decision.

He corners Kuroo in the locker room after practice about it. Before the guy can get any nonsense in his head about  _ love confessions, _ Yaku fixes him with his most no-nonsense expression. “Listen, we need to talk.”

Kuroo, of course, just shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels, looking disgustingly smug. “Hmm? You gonna tell me about how you’re going to Nationals-”

_ “We’re _ going to Nationals,” Yaku cuts him off.

Kuroo pauses, face suddenly young and open with surprise. He starts to reply, but Yaku isn’t done.  _ “Together. _ We both know each other’s strengths by now. If we start working  _ with _ each other instead of  _ against _ each other, we can build our defense into something impenetrable. And we’ll take this team to Nationals again.”

The locker room is quiet for a moment, as Yaku watches Kuroo ponder.

Then, just when Yaku thinks he’s about to say something thoughtful and deep in response, he slowly and deliberately looks around, making a show out of keeping his gaze above Yaku’s head. “What? Who said that?”

Yaku scowls.  _ “I’m down here.” _

Here is another thing Yaku learns about Kuroo Tetsurou: he is not good at saying what he means. When he says  _ who said that?, _ it’s a silent agreement to an alliance. When he says  _ I’m not torn up about it, _ he’s casting his dice for the next year in steel. When he says  _ each team needs a strict parent and a chill parent, _ he’s asking Yaku to take care of Nekoma with him.

And when their home gym is festooned with two-ply toilet paper, and they’re standing at the end of Kai’s road, talking about anything and everything to delay the inevitable parting, and Kuroo says  _ god I’m glad I won’t have to come back and face Nekomata tomorrow morning, _ Yaku hears the  _ I’ll miss you. _

* * *

Here is how it continues.

It really all continues with  _ Lev, _ of all people. When Yaku gets the wedding invitation, he isn’t sure if he’s reading the names right. He texts Kuroo about it, just to make sure.

__ To: Kuroo  
10:05 A.M.  
Is it just me or does this say Yachi Hitoka?  
[img_011834]

__ From: Kuroo  
_10:10 A.M._  
oh hey yakkun nice to talk to you too

__ To: Kuroo  
10:12 A.M.  
When did that happen?

__ From: Kuroo  
10:15 A.M.  
they got together at their third-year training camp dont you remember???

__ To: Kuroo  
__ 10:17 A.M.  
If I ever knew about it, I think I might've blocked it out.

Yaku doesn't really believe it when he's on the train into Tokyo, when he's checking into his hotel room, when he's watching himself button up his only formal shirt in the mirror beforehand. He's not sure he quite believes it even when he's watched his former kouhai and Karasuno's tiny blonde manager exchange vows and a kiss that he has to lift her off the ground for, even when the whole group has swept into the reception room to go eat and drink and watch Lev and Yachi shove cake in each other's faces.

Shibayama is up at the head table - Lev, seated between his best man and his new wife, towers like a silver-haired telephone pole. Inuoka is on Shibayama's other side. Next to Yachi, Yaku recognizes Karasuno’s beauty of a senior manager, Shimizu -  _ Dr. _ Shimizu now, he remembers seeing on Facebook - and a row of Yachi’s old teammates in groomsmen suits. He doesn’t recall names, but there’s the tiny ginger one, the lanky blonde that Kuroo had only ever called Megane-kun, the angular-faced setter who always looked a little constipated, the freckled kid who smiled like a teddy bear. Other than that, Yaku doesn’t recognize anyone - probably siblings, cousins, or the new friends Lev and Yachi made at college.

_ College. _ Lev went to  _ college. _ The thought is somewhat baffling.

Kai couldn't make it down from Hokkaido, but as Yaku weaves amongst the other tables to find his seat, he notices most of their old team here and there - Kenma, with their long hair twisted into two buns, is quietly but urgently attempting to negotiate with Fukunaga for who has to sit next to Yamamoto's familiar noisiness. At the front of the room, there's a cluster of tall, rangy players that Yaku realizes with a pang must be Lev's old kouhais.

And, of course, there’s the unmistakable.

He’s at a table off to the right, with a seat empty next to him. He doesn’t notice Yaku approaching until Yaku stops next to him clears his throat pointedly, and then he startles up out of his seat to greet him.

Yaku inclines his head. “Kuroo.”

“Hey, you,” Kuroo says.

They look each other up and down. (Well, it’s mostly Yaku doing the looking up and Kuroo doing the looking down.) Kuroo’s shoulders are a little broader, face a few years older, hair slightly shorter but no less disastrous.

His sardonic smile hasn’t changed a bit.

“Sit, sit,” Kuroo says. “I saved you a seat.”

Yaku sits. “Really?”

Kuroo grins. “Nah, it was totally an accident. But it’s convenient, yeah?”

Yaku doesn’t really know what he expects from Kuroo. Small talk, maybe. And yeah, Kuroo tells him about his college degree and his job and how his mom is going back to school to study writing, but also about how he’s adopted a adorable kitten and named her Kenma and her tiny claws tore every curtain he owned to shreds while he was at work the other day, how he’s discovered something or another called  _ Pepe, _ how he’s coaching girls’ volleyball at the high school near his apartment and how he doesn’t play favorites but he’s got a soft spot for one of their second-year blockers.

They’re interrupted by Inuoka enthusiastically banging a spoon against his glass, and all eyes turn to the head table. Yachi, who’s a little rosy-cheeked, smiles an obliging smile and leans up to give Lev a chaste kiss.

Yaku watches them with some strange, identifiable ache in his chest, and when he glances over to his right, Kuroo is grinning up at the newlyweds. “They’re cute, yeah?”

Yaku just hums a little as everyone turns back to their dinners.

“S’hard to think about it,” Yaku says suddenly. “How he’s gotten so much older since we left-” His voice is getting tighter, but he goes on, “And how I might never know what all our old teammates look like when they’re old - it’s not like I’m sentimental enough to believe in  _ frozen time, _ but-”

“Hey now,” Kuroo interrupts. “None of that, you old grump.”

Yaku stops out of sheer surprise and shoots Kuroo a glare, unreasonably angry. “What’s  _ that _ supposed to mean?”

“Well, it’s not like we died after we graduated, you know?”

“That’s  _ exactly _ how it works, in stories like these-” Yaku starts to retort.

But Kuroo isn’t done. He leans in, holds up a gentle finger to Yaku’s lips and tells him, “Just because we have more old stories to remember now doesn’t mean that we don’t have new ones to start.”

For some unimaginable reason, Yaku’s sarcastic response is stuck squeezing past the lump in his throat.

“Or, well, maybe I’m getting sentimental in my old age,” Kuroo muses, removing his finger from Yaku’s mouth.

Yaku heaves a deep sigh. “You’ve always been a sap and we both know it.”

“That’s true,” Kuroo agrees amiably. "You wanna dance?”

Yaku looks up in surprise - he hadn’t realized, but once the first song ended, the music shifted to something more upbeat. It’s currently Uptown Funk, and the dance floor is really starting to spark with energy. Karasuno’s old baldy has picked up right where he left off with Yamamoto, and they’re kicking up their heels with a pair of Yachi’s college friends, who clearly haven’t actually talked to either man yet, considering that they both look sincerely interested.

Yaku’s about to say no, they’re too old to embarrass themselves at weddings like that - when he makes the mistake of looking up at Kuroo.

He’s loosened his tie, and pushed the sleeves of his rumpled white shirt to his elbows. His honey-gold eyes are warm with affection, and as Yaku watches, he offers his hand.

“C’mon, Yakkun, what do you say? Wanna make some new memories tonight?”

Yaku is too taken aback to protest when Kuroo pulls him out onto the floor.

* * *

They’re back at their table with drinks now, after a short breather turned into an in-depth argument about American football. Yaku is  _ just _ about to explain to Kuroo that no, the quarterback is  _ not _ the player half the height of the halfback, when they’re interrupted by a delighted voice calling,

“Yaku-senpai!”

And there’s really only one person that would still call Yaku “senpai” when he hasn’t been anyone’s upperclassman in several years.

“He never called  _ me _ senpai,” Kuroo mutters as a long, lanky body bounds across the room towards them.

“That’s because I was a kind and loving senpai to him,” Yaku explains.

“You were a  _ demon _ senpai.”

“Green with envy’s a bad color for you, Kuroo.”

When Lev skids to a halt in front of them, he looks a little like someone clunked him over the head with a wrench and he’s forgotten how to make any facial expression but a dazed smile. The tiny blonde Karasuno manager is pretty short in the first place, but at Lev’s side, she’s dwarfed - her shoulders barely reach his waist. She’s flushed rosy with delight, her hand tiny in his.

Yaku shoves his hands into his pockets. “Lev,” he says drily, “I missed speaking directly to your chest.”

“Thanks!” says Lev. “I’m glad you’re here! Oh, and you too,” he adds to Kuroo. Yaku muffles a cackle.

“We’re glad to see you two,” says Yachi. (Looking at her next to Lev makes Yaku feel a little better about his height.) She’s grown her hair out since Yaku knew her - it’s mostly twisted up at the back of her head, but there’s a few curls dangling down around her face, and her eyes are older, calm and kind in a way that gives Yaku a good feeling about Lev’s future.

“Yes!” says Lev. “Hitoka had to make sure that I didn’t mess up any of the invitations, but I remembered both of you  _ perfectly.” _

_ Hitoka, _ Yaku thinks to himself, and is abruptly overwhelmed with a wave of emotion.

Fortunately, Lev always knows exactly how to ruin a moment. “And it’s fine that you aren’t married yet, Yaku-senpai, someone will come along for you eventually-”

“Lev, you should get going,” Kuroo cuts in. “You and your wife have other people to greet.”

_ “My wife,” _ Lev repeats, and then wriggles a little like an excited overgrown puppy. Kuroo snorts quietly.

“Thank you both for coming!” Yachi calls back to them as Lev pulls her away. As he charges off, she tugs him down to her level and stands on her tiptoes to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. Lev’s ears go the color of strawberries.

“Well, that’s just adorable,” Kuroo says next to him.

“He’s done well,” Yaku agrees. “Lanky little shit.”

His voice hitches on the last syllable, and Kuroo cocks an amused eyebrow. “Are you crying?”

“Shut  _ up.” _

“You wanna step outside for a bit?” Kuroo gestures towards the door next to their table.

“Shut up,” Yaku repeats, but he does swipe his glass of wine off the table and follow Kuroo out.

Darkness has fallen while they were dancing, but the summer night is alive with shrilling cicadas and memories and possibilities. Kuroo leans back against the brick and stays quiet for a moment, and Yaku fiddles with his cuffs and swallows down the damn lump in his throat. Then, just as Yaku is taking a sip of his wine, Kuroo says,

“At least he didn’t choose Wonderwall for the first dance.”

Yaku chokes, and after a few minutes of coughing and spluttering and Kuroo thumping his back heartily, he manages a weak, breathy “don’t  _ even.” _

“D’you think Nekomata’s revoked the ban on musical instruments on training camps yet?”

“Never. Those memories will last a lifetime.”

“At least the actual phase only lasted a few months.”

“I wonder if he ever learned more than those three chords."

“I  _ really _ doubt it.”

They lapse into silence again.

“So, are you wondering if they can kiss each other normally too?” Kuroo asks suddenly.

“What the fuck,” says Yaku.

A smirk lurches across Kuroo’s face like a slime mold. “I’m just saying, he’s so much  _ taller, _ he’d basically have to bend double to reach her mouth-”

Yaku’s eyes narrow. “And  _ you’d _ know, would you-”

“Hear me out, Yakkun, I know a lot about kissing people when they’re much smaller than you-”

“Would you shut  _ up-” _

“And, you know, the shorter person can stand on a stool or something, but it’s always gonna be difficult-”

“God, you’re  _ shameless,” _ Yaku growls, and yanks Kuroo down by his tie.

Here is something Yaku has long known about Kuroo Tetsurou: he is not good at saying what he means.

Yaku’s got him pretty well figured, though.

When he lets Kuroo go, Kuroo swipes his tongue across his flustered lips. A smile skitters onto his mouth, and then widens into a full-blown grin.

And then, unbelievably, he starts rambling again. “My neck’s gonna get sore, you know, if we do a lot of that-”

“You  _ never _ shut up, do you?” Yaku interrupts. His cheeks are hot and getting hotter, which is really just unreasonable, all things considered. It’s just  _ Kuroo. _

Kuroo shuts up, but he’s still grinning. And when Kuroo smiles -  _ really _ smiles, not his trademark crooked smirk or the schooled line of his mouth when he’s trying not to cry - it’s wide and silly, bubbling up and overflowing. Like he’s too giddy to keep his face composed, and so his cheeks puff out and his dimples crease and his eyes sparkle with delight and crinkle around his laugh lines.

Maybe Yaku’s been a little too stubborn about suppressing his affection for the guy.

He pulls Kuroo down by the tie again and kisses the corner of his mouth, sloppy. Kuroo makes a wonderful little noise of surprise. Yaku plants a kiss full on his lips, and then abruptly lets him go. 

“You want to ditch this place?” Kuroo says, and his smile is dizzy, dizzying.

Yaku snorts. “What, so we can go shove our tongues down each other’s throats in the hotel like a pair of high schoolers?”

Kuroo’s eyes widen in faux innocence. “Hey, you said it, not me.”

Yaku considers for a moment, then abruptly turns on his heel and strides off, Kuroo’s obnoxious cackles following him all the way.

* * *

Of course, it’s a twenty-minute walk back to their hotel. Kuroo had slipped back in to grab his coat before they headed out, but Yaku hadn’t thought to bring a jacket. He folds his arms tight around his chest. Summer nights always get chillier than he anticipates.

“Hey - you’re shivering.”

It takes a moment for Yaku to realize that Kuroo is moving to pull off his own jacket. When he figures it out, he rolls his eyes. “Keep it. You have less body fat than I do.”

Kuroo pauses and brays one of his terrible donkey-laughs. “Worried about me, Yakkun?”

“Over my dead body.” They both know that means something like  _ yes. _ “Keep the jacket, Kuroo.”

“Alright, alright.” Kuroo shrugs the jacket back on, smile lurking around the corner of his lips. “But I do have my hoodie in my bag.”

In the moment that Yaku hesitates, Kuroo stops and puts his bag down on the gravel of the road so he can dig through it for the hoodie.

Kuroo’s been wearing the same hoodie as long as Yaku’s known him. It’s a little older, a little more worn now, but it’s got plenty of warmth left in it.

Kuroo holds it out to him, but Yaku is still reluctant. “You’re going to get  _ cold,” _ he argues, with waning conviction.

Kuroo grins down at him. “You’ll keep me warm, won’t you?”

“Don’t make me turn myself around.”

_ “Yaku,” _ Kuroo wheedles.

Normally, none of that nonsense would work on Yaku in the slightest. But it’s  _ cold _ , and nobody’s around to see, and Kuroo’s still smiling wide and silly, and so Yaku takes the hoodie.

It’s way too big for him, of course. The hem hangs down to mid-thigh, and the sleeves flop down over his hands until he pushes them up. And it smells like Kuroo - that particular blend of woodsmoke and cologne and Kuroo’s mom’s delicious brownies that maybe Yaku won’t have to give up after all.

“Warmer?” Kuroo asks as they start walking again.

Yaku wrinkles his nose. “It’s all worn out and way too thin. Hardly does anything at all.”

“So, yes?” Kuroo presses.

“Yeah, it’s warmer.”

Kuroo’s eyes are shining.

“Stop looking like that,” Yaku instructs him after a few steps.

“What are you gonna do, whack me with your sweater-paws?”

That sounds like a great idea to Yaku, and he whaps Kuroo across the face with satisfaction.

But if, after that, he pulls Kuroo back down to his level again to kiss him properly breathless, well-

That’s how it all starts, isn’t it.


End file.
